


bad dreams from the broken wedding rings that you keep under your pillow while you sleep

by katyfaise



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:17:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4954810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyfaise/pseuds/katyfaise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn’t that she is snooping - Gaby would never call it that in a million years. She doesn’t have to snoop. If she wants an answer from Illya she gets it, usually in a quick summary or a curt nod. Sure, the answers are never in depth but they’re always answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bad dreams from the broken wedding rings that you keep under your pillow while you sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I mean.... Illya had to have a complete life before UNCLE right? So this isn't too far off the mark. It's plausible. Maybe. I dunno. I just hope you enjoy <3  
> title from Emily Kinney  
> as always please alert me to any mistakes and i will amend

It isn’t that she is snooping - Gaby would never call it that in a million years. She doesn’t _have_ to snoop. If she wants an answer from Illya she gets it, usually in a quick summary or a curt nod. Sure, the answers are never in depth but they’re always answers. 

And Gaby is completely alright with that. 

But it happens one night when her search for a sewing kit for a torn hem turns up a slew of things in Illya’s luggage that she doesn’t quite understand. Items sit in a box that she might have opened by _accident_ when it fell on the floor and spilled out. She sits down on the floor, careful to pause and reassess the silence in the hotel room. Illya is out with Napoleon photographing something or other that will undoubtedly be important when the time comes - right now she can’t even remember where. She doesn’t care.

The items on the floor around her have stolen her attention fully.

There are various letters all tied up with red twine which she thumbs through absently, all of the writing in a Cyrillic script that she hasn’t learned enough of to decipher. Illya’s name she recognizes, as to who the letters are addressed to - and the date from the latest being no more than a month before. Gaby raises an eyebrow, confused by the discovery, but pushes her curiosity aside. 

Carefully she moves aside items, placing them back into the box as she goes. Photos come next, black and white prints of locations Gaby has never seen before. There’s one of a lanky blonde boy in an ill-fitting suit standing proudly between a man with a decorated lapel and a woman with white gloves and a round hat on her head. Gaby smiles and runs her fingers along the edges of the photo - worn and aged and darker than it had been years before. It’s odd seeing Illya in such a vulnerable position as a child, and if she guesses right the picture is only a short time before his father is convicted and sent to the labor camp. 

The thought makes her sad and she carefully tucks the photo back into the box. 

Another photo sticks out to her, this time in color, the same woman from before with more of a smile on her face. There’s another little boy in the photo on one side, and a smaller girl on the other. The family resemblance is undeniable - bright eyes and fair hair, lanky limbs that will be awkward for years until they grow. She turns the photo over and tries to make out the script - Maxim and Anna, if her translation is right - the younger brother and sister from his mother’s new marriage years before. 

Gaby wonders if they stay in contact or if this is the only connection Illya has to his family in Russia. She wonders quickly if she will ever know, if she will ever meet any of them. Then she boxes her wonder away for another time.

She continues to look through the items until something small catches her attention from the corner of her view. Buried beneath a few inconsequential documents is a gold band. It’s in need of a polish, but it’s large enough to fit Illya’s fingers. She picks it up gently, eyebrows knitting together as she turns it over and over in her palm. Gaby slips it onto her ring finger, could probably fit another finger alongside it with no problem, and stares at the tarnished gold. She holds it up to the light and catches the engraving on the inside - _IK + VY._  

Gaby drops the ring as if it burns her skin.

The door to the hotel opens and Gaby hears it quickly enough to shove all of the belongings back into the small box. It’s messy, and Illya will no doubt discover that she’s been through his things, but she doesn’t care much.

She’s not going to give him the chance to get angry with her when she’s already angry at him. 

With the ring in her hand she stands and stomps out of the bedroom, meeting Illya with a camera bag slung over his shoulder.

He pauses when he sees her, the greeting smile on his face fading into unsure worry. 

“Gaby,” he offers, more of a question than a statement. His hands are already held up in a sign of surrender. 

“What is this?” she asks, holding her palm out. Illya glances down and sees the ring that sits there innocently. She watches the muscles in his jaw clench before he looks back to meet her gaze. 

“Looks like a ring.”

She grabs his hand then and turns it so she can place the ring into his palm. “Yes. _Your_ ring, am I correct?”

Illya contemplates her question for a moment and glances back to the piece of jewelry he now holds. He closes his fist and opens it slowly before holding the ring up to the light, inspecting it as if he were appraising its value. 

Then he nods simply and steps around her. 

Gaby suddenly feels deflated, and she turns to watch Illya as he deposits his camera bag on the couch and sits beside it, long legs bent up nearly to his shoulders. She takes a deep breath and follows him to the couch but instead elects to sit across from him on the lounge. 

“Well?”

Illya looks up at her then and sighs. 

“It was long time ago,” he says, though Gaby’s face is too expectant to let him get away with just that explanation. “Top KGB operative’s daughter. It seemed like…” he pauses then and Gaby leans forward, pushing him to continue. “Right thing to do at time.”

Gaby nods as if she understands when in reality it’s the farthest thing from the truth. “Was it… Did you marry her because you loved her?” she asks, instantly regretting her question. She isn’t sure if she wants to know. Illya exists in some sort of vacuum to her, no matter how silly that sounds. The Illya before doesn’t matter to her, just as the Gaby before doesn’t matter to him. There is only the here and now and she prefers it that way. 

Except this seems like something she cannot live in the dark about. 

Illya smiles weakly and shakes his head. “No. It was very political marriage. We were close but… no love. Not like…” his words fail and Gaby knows what he means. Knows he wants to refer to what it is they share, but he can’t quite get there. “Her name is Vera. Very nice woman,” he says instead. “I take it you also found the letters." 

Gaby nods, trying her best to not look as guilty as she feels now. 

“I wasn’t snooping!” she says quickly. “Besides, I couldn’t read them if I wanted to.”

“She keeps me updated. She has three children and lives in the south of France. Very happy. We are friends.”

“It’s nice to know you have friends,” Gaby says instead of the apology on the tip of her tongue. 

“I am human,” Illya says, the smirk on his lips deceiving his stern tone.

“Sometimes I’m not sure of that.” Gaby toys with the end of her blouse, eyes downcast as her mind races.

“Is it correct to assume you were jealous?”

Gaby’s head pops up and her eyes narrow. 

“No. Not at all. It was just odd that you never thought to share that with me.”

“You never asked,” Illya explains as if it should have been a natural question for her. He leans forward and leaves the ring on the coffee table between them. “Would you like to get rid of it?” he asks and Gaby isn’t sure if it’s a test or not. 

She glances to the piece of jewelry then up to Illya and shakes her head. “I’m not jealous, Illya. _I_ have you now. I’m not worried.” She can’t ignore the flash of appreciation in Illya’s eyes. Despite the fact that she had very much felt jealous before, she doesn’t want to rid Illya of that part of his life. 

Besides, the part that matters to her is the part that is happening now. The part she is making alongside him.

“Should I worry about any junior Illyas running around though? 

Illya chuckles, a genuine sound that is always music to Gaby’s ears and shakes his head. “No. Not yet.”


End file.
